


What You Have to Say to Me

by DeskGirl



Series: Pair of Aces [3]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Canon-Typical Violence, Declarations Of Love, Don’t copy to another site, Established Relationship, Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, One terrible Ace joke, POV Hanzo Shimada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-30
Updated: 2019-06-30
Packaged: 2020-05-31 02:31:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19416649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeskGirl/pseuds/DeskGirl
Summary: Third installment of"Pair of Aces,"coming after"Something a Little Sweeter"and"Matching Pair."(Can also be read as a stand-alone)It's been nearly a year since Hanzo and McCree started dating. Still, there are unspoken feelings—words that they have yet to say to one another. Now they find themselves on a mission gone south, pinned down and outnumbered, their chances of escape quickly diminishing. With danger looming, will they finally find their voices?





	What You Have to Say to Me

Hanzo listened to Jesse’s heavy breathing as they hunkered in the dark of a supply closet behind a cleaning cart. He could just make out the shape of him in the gloom. Jesse held his right arm protectively against his chest. His left hung limp at his side.

Hanzo set aside his bow and nearly-empty quiver. He laid a comforting hand on Jesse’s knee before he stood to dig through the contents of the cleaning cart. Eventually, he found a towel long enough to suit his purposes. Wordlessly, he knelt beside Jesse and looped the towel under his right arm, then up around his shoulder and neck. Experienced hands knotted the corners and tested them to ensure they wouldn’t come undone.

Under his hands, Hanzo could feel Jesse’s shoulders relax as he let the sling take the weight of his possibly-broken arm. If they were lucky, it was just a sprain, but Hanzo had seen—and heard—how hard Jesse hit the stairwell railing when that Talon merc rammed into him. At the moment, it didn’t matter either way. The fact was Jesse couldn’t hold a gun right-handed. And what’s worse: his prosthesis had been damaged beyond use in the ensuing scuffle before Hanzo could jump in and pull his attacker off.

Now that they had a moment to breathe, Hanzo took Jesse's prosthesis in hand. He couldn’t see any details, but he could feel the gash under his fingers where the knife had made it between the steel plates and shredded the delicate inner wiring. The entire arm was useless now, refusing to even bend at the elbow let alone articulate enough to level a gun and pull the trigger.

“Should—” The words caught in Hanzo’s dry throat. He swallowed and licked his lips, then tried again. “Should we detach it?” It would give Jesse use of his upper arm at the very least, which was more than he had at the moment.

Jesse shook his head after some thought. “Not in the dark. And not without my tools. Besides, then one of us’d have to carry it.”

Hanzo sighed. He didn’t let go just yet, instead letting his hands drift up to squeeze Jesse’s arm above the elbow. He listened to their mixed breathing as he strained to hear anything beyond the closet door.

The office building was large, but there weren’t many places to hide. With over two dozen Talon agents patrolling the halls, it was only a matter of time before one of them got lucky and stumbled across the closet where Jesse and Hanzo had taken shelter.

“How many arrows you got?” Jesse asked, his voice light but thin. He was trying too hard to sound casual.

“Five. Not nearly enough.”

“We could try and double back. Recover a few.”

“No. They will have cut off our exit that way. We would be cornering ourselves.”

“Shit.”

“Mm.”

“We could go for the roof. Got the emergency comm kit and spare quiver up there.”

“Talon has the stairs. Remember?” Hanzo said pointedly.

Jesse sighed and tipped his head back to look at the ceiling.

Hanzo watched the silhouette of Jesse’s face in the gloom. As his eyes adjusted, the dark blur became more defined. He was able to make out the shape of Jesse’s nose, the line of his mouth, the strong shape of his brows over upturned eyes. Hanzo had studied that face countless times before, but never with the intention to commit it to memory as he did now.

Hanzo didn’t want to think about the reality of the situation, but ignoring it wouldn’t change anything. Jesse was hurt and incapable of fighting or even defending himself. Hanzo would have to shift to close combat tactics soon, which increased his own chances of being hurt. They were trapped and outnumbered. Their comms were jammed. Agent Oxton back in the Aurora was their only support, and she couldn’t reach them even if she knew they needed her help. The odds of surviving this mission were shrinking by the minute.

There were nights when Hanzo laid in bed beside Jesse—a habit that was becoming more frequent of late when one of them didn’t want to walk back to their own quarters in the evening—and he let himself consider scenarios like this one. It accomplished little besides making him feel ill, but the train of thought was difficult to stop once he got going. By the light of day, the likelihood of one of them dying on a mission was a possible but distant risk. At night, it loomed over Hanzo’s head as an inevitability. They were both fighters by nature, and Hanzo could not imagine himself passing away peacefully of old age.

At first, Hanzo had reflected that he imagined these no-win scenarios because he was being practical. He had learned long ago to recognize what he could and could not control, and to brace himself against the pain. However, further meditation on the matter forced him to consider the possibility that he was doing it to punish himself. He had found happiness. Love. Acceptance. Why should he of all people have these things? He didn’t deserve any of it. It only made sense that in return for this brief joy, he would eventually have to pay in blood.

One would think that after imagining it so many times, Hanzo would be more prepared. Instead, he found his limbs heavy like lead and his stomach twisted into knots. Fear draped itself over him and sank its claws in deep. It whispered in his ear: he could make it out, but Jesse could not. He could stay and try to protect him, but then they would both die. Jesse would never stand for that, and Hanzo knew it would be supremely selfish to allow himself to die when his brother and the rest of Overwatch still needed him. But leaving Jesse behind simply wasn’t an option. His hands were tied.

“Hey, Hanzo?” Jesse spoke softly into the dark. His head tilted towards Hanzo, and his boot gently nudged his knee.

“Yes?”

“Y’know, I never told you”—Jesse stopped and started again—“I shoulda. Was cruel of me, really, and I’m sorry for that—But…”

Hanzo’s hands fisted. He knew what Jesse was about to say. It had hung between them for nearly a year now, tying Jesse’s tongue in quiet moments when the words should have come naturally. Hanzo never pushed him, though. Some hurdles were more difficult to overcome than others; he knew that better than most. Truthfully, he would be lying if he claimed he didn’t want to hear him say it. But not like this.

“I need you to know that I love—”

“No!”

They both stiffened at Hanzo’s outburst.

Hanzo waited a moment, but when no one kicked down the door and started shooting at them, he turned on Jesse, his teeth bared. “We are not going to die here,” he snarled, cutting to the truth of the matter.

“Wha—That’s—I mean, I’m not—”

“Confessing your feelings before it’s too late?” Hanzo finished. He heard Jesse breathe in sharply and knew he had struck true. His lip curled. “Good. Because I will not allow it.”

Hanzo leaned in to grab hold of the top of Jesse’s chest plate, their noses nearly brushing. This close, he could see that Jesse’s eyes were wide and his mouth hung slack. Hanzo didn’t know what expression he was making, but he hoped it accurately portrayed the fury he felt.

“What you have to say to me will wait until we are aboard the Aurora and headed home, not a moment before. Do you understand me?”

“Y… Yeah. I hear ya.”

Hanzo pulled away slowly as the anger left him, suddenly very aware of how he must have looked and sounded. He turned his head away and fought to regain some semblance of control.

“So then,” Jesse said thoughtfully, “we gotta figure out a way of slipping past Talon with only one fighter and you playin’ escort on top of that. Which means avoiding them altogether if we can help it.” There was a ruefulness to his words, like he wanted to humor Hanzo but knew that nothing they came up with would work. Or at least, that was how it sounded to Hanzo. Still, he preferred it to sitting in a janitor’s closet waiting to die.

Jesse stood up and started pacing the room, peering at the dark shelves as if he might find an answer somewhere between the bottles of cleaning solution and broken sweeper drones.

Meanwhile, Hanzo ran the numbers in his head. If he kept to midrange targets and only fired in the direction he intended to advance, he could recover and reuse several of his arrows. However, he didn’t want to make such assumptions. He may very well need to expend all of them just to retreat to a more defensible position.

Then there was Peacekeeper.

Months ago, it’d been agreed that everyone should be proficient in firearms in case the need arose. Hanzo couldn’t argue the logic. It had been several years since he himself had last needed to use a gun, but battles could be unpredictable.

Jesse had jumped at the chance to turn it into a bonding experience. He and Agent Amari took it upon themselves to give everyone refresher courses, and he’d insisted on being Hanzo’s training partner. Together, they went through the basics of standard handguns, rifles, and plasma pistols. Then, when there was nothing left to learn, Jesse suggested Hanzo learn to use his revolver. It was an obvious excuse to spend time with Hanzo while waxing poetic about his precious Peacekeeper at the same time, but those lessons were about to pay off.

Hanzo didn’t need to ask to know how many bullets Jesse had. He always strove to keep track of his teammates’ ammunition and power levels. Jesse still had four rounds in the chamber, two speedloaders, and an eight-bullet speed strip besides.

After further consideration, Hanzo decided it was best to switch weapons now. The revolver would be more maneuverable in the hallways, and Hanzo didn’t want to be caught off-guard in the process of swapping out his bow.

Jesse stopped pacing. “The service elevator.”

“What?”

“We take the service elevator,” Jesse said. “Talon hasn’t cut the power yet, so it’s still running.”

“You already know that is not an option. The elevator is locked and requires a keycard.”

“Which is why Talon won’t be guarding it.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that we cannot access it.”

“Yeah, but guess who can,” Jesse said as he put a boot on the cleaning cart and pushed it towards Hanzo.

Embarrassingly, it took Hanzo a moment to understand what Jesse was getting at, but then he leapt to his feet to dig through the cleaning cart. He let out a triumphant sound when he discovered an access card on a lanyard hidden under a roll of paper towels.

“We’re back in business,” Jesse said.

Hanzo hummed in agreement as he slipped his quiver and bow onto his back. He flipped the access card between his fingers thoughtfully before looping the lanyard over Jesse’s neck. Then he reached down and unbuckled his gun holster.

“Hey,” Jesse said, sounding surprised and then indignant, “didn’t your mama teach you not to handle a man’s gun without asking first?”

Hanzo went still as he processed the question. Then he gave a snort. “I prefer not to handle guns in general.” He secured the holster around his own waist. He drew Peacekeeper and checked the cylinder to make sure he had the bullet count right. “If you are truly so offended, I will apologize later. For now, let us focus on getting out of this mess. I will cover you. Head directly for the elevator. Do not stop for any reason.”

“Got it. I’ll follow your lead.”

The first stretch was easy. Talon didn’t have a bead on them yet, so Hanzo was able to take down the few agents he encountered quickly while Jesse stayed close to his side, watching his back. Hanzo kept to hand-to-hand tactics as much as possible to avoid giving away their position as they moved through the building. Eventually, someone managed to get a warning out. By the time they reached the elevator, every enemy operative in the building was bearing down on them.

“Hurry,” Hanzo urged. He fired around the corner, then pulled back to reload. Muscle memory guided him as he swung open the cylinder, emptied the spent cartridges, inserted the speedloader, twisted, and swung the cylinder closed again. Jesse had made him practice until he could reload smoothly in under three seconds—every tenth of a second could mean the difference between life and death.

When Hanzo leaned around the corner again, he found two Talon operatives trying to advance on their position, and they in turn found two bullets lodged in their sternums.

Behind him, Hanzo heard the access panel chime as Jesse maneuvered the card against the reader. Then he heard muttering.

“Oh—dangit. I can’t reach the… Screw it.”

Hanzo turned in time to see Jesse stoop down awkwardly and hit the elevator button with his nose. If it weren’t for the fact that they were about to get shot, Hanzo might have laughed.

The doors slid open with a ding. The noise spurred the Talon operatives into action. They rushed the hall. Hanzo fired the rest of his bullets in quick succession before he pulled back to the elevator where Jesse was holding the door with his shoulder.

Hanzo hit the button for the roof before pulling out another speedloader. He growled when he fumbled the reload, then let out a confused grunt as Jesse’s solid bulk shoved him up against the wall. Plasma blasts peppered the back of the elevator. The doors finally slid shut, muffling the shots, then the elevator began to climb.

Jesse immediately pulled back, and Hanzo saw his face twisted in pain.

Hanzo forgot what to do with his hands for a moment before holstering the revolver. “You’re hurt. Were you shot?” he asked as he checked Jesse over.

“Nah, it’s just my arm,” Jesse said, his voice strained. “Pinned it between us. I’m thinkin’ you were right about it being fractured.”

Hanzo’s hands hovered over the offending limb, unable to do anything to help. He settled for cupping the sides of Jesse’s face, fingers digging into his unruly beard.

“From this point on, focus on keeping yourself safe.”

“Then who’s gonna protect you?”

The corner of Jesse’s mouth quirked up in a smile. Hanzo ran his thumb over it, smoothing it out and silently willing Jesse to be serious.

“I will protect myself,” Hanzo said, “which will prove easier if I am not worrying about you.”

Jesse huffed out a breath. “Gotcha.”

Talon hadn’t taken the roof yet. Without the keycard, they couldn’t follow using the elevator, which just left the stairs. Hanzo grabbed a piece of scrap metal someone had been using for a doorstop and wedged it into the base of the door to jam it shut. Then he rigged one of Jesse’s flashbang grenades to the door and frame. With no other way to fortify the stairwell entrance, they retreated to cover.

While Talon had entered the building from the ground floor, Jesse and Hanzo had entered from the roof after fast-roping out of the Aurora. They’d left behind a spare communications array, a second quiver of arrows, a box of revolver cartridges, smoke grenades, and—bless Dr. Ziegler’s well-placed concern—a biotic emitter.

Jesse put his back to the HVAC system where they’d hidden the crate full of their gear and slid down to the ground, his legs sprawled and his mechanical hand limp in his lap.

“Could use a smoke right about now,” Jesse said wistfully.

Hanzo pulled the crate over and flipped the lid open. When he pulled out the biotic emitter, he saw Jesse frown.

“Don’t bother with that. Get the radio up and runnin’. You’re gonna need to hop frequencies to counter whatever Talon’s using to jam our comms, and the K-T takes a while to set up.”

In the time it took Jesse to protest, Hanzo had already activated the emitter, and a gentle golden light suffused the area. Hanzo gave Jesse a dry look. “What were you saying?”

Jesse rolled his eyes. “Nevermind.”

Next, Hanzo refilled his quiver and set the remains of Jesse’s ammo within reach; he didn’t want to have to scramble for them later. He kept the gun belt on and set his bow at his side. Finally, he pulled out the radio and its various components.

The communications array was outdated—German tech from the Omnic Crisis that Wilhelm had provided. While it had its downsides, it offered two distinct advantages: one, it was easy to figure out because it’d been designed for use by any soldier with minimal training, and two, it was so antiquated that modern electronic countermeasures had practically no effect on it. Paired with the Key Transfer Device, which provided synchronized frequency hopping tables and crypto keys that only the Aurora could read, it proved incredibly reliable.

Hanzo set up the radio’s omnidirectional antenna, hooked in the K-T, and started broadcasting.

“Aurora, we need evac. Agent McCree is injured.”

“It ain’t that bad.”

Hanzo signaled for Jesse to be quiet with a sharp hand gesture. He turned back to the radio. “We are on the roof, about to come under fire. Aurora, are you there?”

The radio whined softly as Hanzo waited for an answer.

“I read you, love,” Oxton answered. “Aurora inbound, full bore. Sit tight and be ready to make a run for it.”

“Acknowledged.”

Jesse stiffened and turned his head to the side. “Bad guys on the stairs. Wrap it up.”

Hanzo flipped the power switch and broke down the array as fast as he could. It folded into a compact case with a carrying strap the K-T could be hooked to. They couldn’t afford to leave it behind. Overwatch didn’t have the same resources as Talon, and the crypto keys programmed into the K-T were the only thing keeping their communications secure in the field at the moment.

“I’ll carry it,” Jesse offered. “You’ve got your own gear to carry. Just help me get it on.”

Hanzo could hear someone kicking at the stairwell door as he helped loop the radio strap over Jesse’s chest and under his sling.

“Sounds like company’s here,” Jesse said. “I don’t think they’re happy about us leavin’ the party so soon.”

Hanzo picked up his bow and grabbed one of the smoke grenades. “It was a lousy party anyway.” He was rewarded with a sharp bark of laughter from Jesse right before someone managed to finally kick in the door and trigger the flashbang.

In the moment after the flash, while the agents in the stairwell stumbled over their own feet and Hanzo’s ears still rang, he activated the smoke grenade and tossed it. It rolled to a stop, then a plume of thick, gray smoke spewed forth, blanketing the rooftop.

The smoke stung Hanzo’s eyes and irritated his throat. He couldn’t see more than a few feet, but neither could his opponents. He had a distinct advantage, however. As the Talon agents tried to advance through the smoke, he tracked their heavy steps with a nocked arrow. The release of his bowstring was too quiet to pinpoint while the answering, panicked gunfire only made it easier for Hanzo to find his next target.

Still, they were approaching faster than Hanzo would have liked, and would soon find both him and Jesse.

Just as Hanzo began to worry that Talon had intercepted Agent Oxton, the smoke billowed and rolled, pushed away by the Aurora’s thrusters as it descended. It settled inches off the ground with its doors turned to face Hanzo and Jesse, and one of the hatches lifted up.

“Sorry I’m late, gang,” Oxton called. “Had a bit of trouble on the way—hey!” Oxton jumped back as gunfire peppered the Aurora. “This is a new paint job!” she shouted.

Hanzo fired an arrow at the closest Talon agent he could see, then ducked as the others turned their weapons on him. Oxton began firing pulse blasts from the cover of the Aurora.

“Time to go.” Hanzo set his bow on his back, then helped Jesse up into a kneeling position. He grabbed a smoke grenade.

“Let it cook a couple seconds,” Jesse advised.

Hanzo nodded. He activated the grenade, patiently counted to three, then lobbed it. It began to spout smoke before it hit the ground. One of the agents shouted and ran to grab it, but they were too late: a fresh blanket of smoke filled the air.

Moving as one, Hanzo and Jesse stood and made a run for the ship. Plasma blasts pierced through the smoke around them, concentrated largely on the Aurora where the light of the thrusters gave away its position. Hanzo kept a hand on the small of Jesse’s back, subtly positioning himself to shield him as they ran.

The metal ramp clanged under their feet as they rushed up and into the ship hold. Tracer slapped a hand on the hatch control, then zipped to the cockpit in a flash of light before the door had finished closing. There was a soft hiss as the door sealed and pressurized.

Hanzo still had a hand on Jesse’s back. He could feel the shudder under his palm as Jesse huffed out silent, adrenaline-fueled laughs. They had made it. A smile pulled at Hanzo’s mouth. He indulged for a moment before reining himself in again. There were still things that needed to be done.

With firm but gentle hands, Hanzo guided Jesse to sit down at the med station. They hadn’t brought any of the medics with them, but Dr. Ziegler could use the station to examine them remotely and advise them on first aid.

“It can wait ’til we get back,” Jesse said as he sat down. He never seemed particularly eager to let the medics know he’d been injured. Hanzo wondered at times if it was a general dislike of hospitals, his need to be self-reliant, or the specific fear of Dr. Ziegler’s reaction. Hanzo had been on the receiving end of her reprimands. She wasn’t particularly cruel, but she had a gift for instilling guilt. Her ability to make one feel remorse for being reckless or stubborn was impressive. He saw now how she’d managed to win his brother over.

Regardless of Jesse’s reservations, Hanzo turned on the med station and helped him out of the makeshift sling. A display lit up, and a metal arm extended. It swept around Jesse, bathing him in a narrow beam of light, and the display filled with details of his vitals. Jesse held still, but he tilted his head away from the arm like he’d rather be anywhere else.

A second display came online, and Dr. Ziegler appeared. The camera went in and out of focus for a moment before she settled in her chair. “Hoi zäme. I’m glad to see you’re both still alive,” she said as she typed at a keyboard. “Although I’d be happier if you didn’t need patching up.”

“See, I told Hanzo not to bother you,” Jesse said.

Before Hanzo had the chance to argue, Ziegler made a tsking sound and waved a finger sharply at the screen. “We’ve had this discussion before. Don’t wait to tell me when you’re hurt. Agent Hanzo, would you be so kind as to grab the mobile X-Ray? The station’s detecting abnormalities in McCree’s right arm. Mild swelling, but also possibly something deeper.”

“That would be the fracture.”

“Excuse me?”

“Might be a sprain,” Jesse said quickly.

“That’s not what you said in the elevator.”

Jesse threw Hanzo a betrayed look before slumping in his seat with a sigh.

“Agent Hanzo, I’d like a look at that arm now,” Ziegler said, her voice tight with thinly veiled concern. Hanzo saw the corner of Jesse’s mouth twitch. The guilt was already setting in.

Hanzo pulled out the protective lead sheet from the station and laid it over Jesse’s chest, repositioned his arm across the sheet, then picked up the X-Ray tool. It looked a bit like a ray gun crossed with a barcode scanner. He turned it on and ran the light over Jesse’s arm. Then he carefully held Jesse’s arm away from his body and scanned the other side.

The X-Rays appeared on the display, taking the place of Jesse’s vitals. The fracture was easy to spot. While it could have been worse, the bones were obviously misaligned.

Ziegler grimaced as she examined the scans. “You used the biotic emitter.”

“Yes,” Hanzo said hesitantly. He studied the scans, trying to see what Dr. Ziegler saw. “Jes—ah, Agent McCree was in pain, and I did not know the extent of the damage. It seemed prudent. What’s wrong?”

Ziegler waved a hand. “You’re fine. You did the right thing. But next time this happens, I suggest cutting the emitter’s output by half. It brought down the swelling, which helps with the pain and treating the injury, but now the bones are starting to fuse together.”

“What’s that mean?” Jesse asked, his tone cautious.

Ziegler sighed. “It means I’ll have to break and reset it when you get back. But with the medical technology I have here, it’ll be easy, and you won’t feel any of it. For now, put it in a sling and leave it be. I’ll authorize a dose of painkillers for you. Are there any other injuries?”

“Prosthetic’s busted,” Jesse said.

“I’ll inform Winston and Torbjörn. Agent Hanzo?”

“I am fine.”

“All right. I’ll begin prepping for your arrival.”

The display screen vanished, and the med station’s arm retracted. Jesse leaned back into his seat with a sigh while Hanzo rummaged in the station’s cabinets for a proper sling. When he found it, he coaxed Jesse upright so he could slip it on him.

“She’s gonna want details, you know. Can’t wait for the good doc to lecture me on bein’ more careful,” Jesse said.

“You could certainly make more of an effort,” Hanzo said. “But I will do my best to defend you.”

The med station made a dinging sound, and a panel slid back to reveal an alcove containing a plastic packet and a bottle of water. Hanzo cracked open the lid of the water and set it aside, then ripped open the packet and dumped the dose of painkillers out into his palm.

“Here.” Hanzo helped Jesse take the pills one at a time with a sip of water in between.

It took until the third pill for Hanzo to realize Jesse was purposefully catching his fingers between his lips each time; the amused twinkle in his eye was unmistakable. Hanzo caught his chin with a hand while offering him the water bottle.

“Behave,” Hanzo scolded. Jesse hummed in understanding, but still did it again when offered the last pill.

“What am I to do with you?” Hanzo asked as he put the lid back on the bottle and set it aside.

“Love me, I guess,” Jesse teased.

Hanzo looked over in time to see Jesse’s lighthearted smile fade and twist into regret. Jesse shook his head and started to say something, most likely a half-hearted apology, but he cut him off with a hand under his chin. He tilted Jesse’s face up, brushed his haphazard bangs out of the way, and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead.

They had stumbled into this conversation they couldn’t bring themselves to have several times now. Hanzo had learned the pattern. Sometimes he started it. Sometimes Jesse did. It always began with the same word; always died into a fragile, pregnant silence; and always ended with some gesture of affection—a balm to soothe the ache. Usually Jesse was the one to offer up this olive branch: he would lay kisses across Hanzo’s knuckles or draw hearts with his fingertips or wrap him in his arms and hang on like a drowning man. It was his way of saying what he couldn’t say.

In recent weeks, though, as the not-conversations became more frequent and Jesse seemed to struggle under the weight of them, Hanzo had taken up the task. Words between them had grown difficult, and Hanzo rarely said the word “love” for fear of the sadness he might see in Jesse’s eyes, so he welcomed the chance to hold Jesse close and reassure him of his affection wordlessly. He poured himself into lingering touches and lips pressed to rough stubble, and he hoped that Jesse understood.

Hanzo felt Jesse relax against him. The air seemed to lighten, as if a storm had passed, and Hanzo breathed deeply. When he pulled away, Jesse offered him a shy smile, and how could he not kiss Jesse again when he looked up at him like that?

Satisfied that all was well again, Hanzo went to sit beside Jesse only for the gun belt to dig into his hips. He’d been so preoccupied tending to Jesse’s injury that he’d forgotten. He stood up and unhooked the belt, then set it down with his own bow and quiver. The bullets were removed from the cylinder and dumped into an ammo pouch.

“I believe I promised you an apology for taking your gun,” Hanzo said, his tone lightly teasing. He turned to take his seat again, but stopped short.

Jesse was on his feet. His brow was furrowed and his mouth twisted like he was about to run across open ground in enemy territory. “I…” He seemed to struggle. His expression pinched, then smoothed into something more determined as he closed the distance between himself and Hanzo. Hanzo stood his ground and waited.

“I love you.” There was a beat of silence. Then Jesse’s composure crumbled. “I love you so much, it—it feels like my chest is gonna burst, and I have no idea why it’s been so hard for me t’ say so. I shoulda told you months ago. Shoulda told you right from the start.”

Hanzo watched as Jesse’s shoulders, normally broad and relaxed with that easy confidence of his, drew in now, making him seem oddly small. He curled in on himself, gaze downcast and head bowed. It seemed only natural in that moment to reach out and wrap Jesse in his arms. To draw him in and down until Jesse’s face was pressed to the crook of his shoulder and he could feel light, uneven breaths against his neck.

“I always knew,” Hanzo said softly. “I didn’t need you to tell me. But I am glad you did.”

They stayed that way for a time. How long, Hanzo wasn’t sure. Eventually, though, Jesse began to shift restlessly as the position became uncomfortable. Hanzo let him go, and he straightened with a roll of his shoulders and a sigh.

“Come over here.” Hanzo guided Jesse to a seat and took the spot beside him.

Jesse immediately leaned his weight against Hanzo. “’m sorry,” he mumbled.

“There is no need to apologize.”

Jesse shook his head. “No. No, you deserve an apology. I feel like I’ve been stringin’ you along. Maybe you knew how I felt without me saying it, but still, you shouldn’t have to guess. It shouldn’t’ve been so hard for me to tell you.”

“But it was.” Hanzo pressed his lips together before continuing cautiously. “Do you want to tell me why?”

Jesse’s head dropped to Hanzo’s shoulder. “I’m not sure I quite know why myself. The words just get stuck.”

“It can be frightening to trust someone else with your emotions.”

“Yeah, but I know that…I know that you love me. There was never anything for me to be afraid of.”

Hanzo could hear the self-deprecation in Jesse’s words. He reached up and ran a hand through Jesse’s hair. “It was something else, then.”

“I suppose,” Jesse relented. “I guess I just. I wasn’t ready.” He was quiet for a long moment. “I’ve told people that I loved them before. I was pretty sure I meant it, and I believed ‘em when they said they loved me back. ‘Cept one of us must’ve been wrong, because it never lasted.” Hanzo felt Jesse let out a shuddering breath. “Guess I was worried the same thing would happen to us. I didn’t wanna jinx it.”

Hanzo didn’t usually think much on Jesse’s dating history. They both carried the weight of a lifetime of experience, mistakes, and hard choices. It was too much baggage for either of them to dig through on their own, and proved barely manageable with help from each other when they were brave enough to try. Who Jesse had or hadn’t dated hardly seemed worth stewing over, at least in Hanzo’s opinion.

For Jesse, it was a different matter. On the rare occasions he talked about his past relationships, his stories were melancholy but light. Good or bad, he seemed grateful for the experiences. Still, there were undoubtedly ghosts haunting those old, faded memories, waiting to latch on to Jesse if he lingered too long.

How much guilt did Jesse bear on his shoulders for those failed relationships? He was good at hiding it, but he dwelt on these things. He replayed his failures over and over, trying to figure out where he went wrong even when there was nothing he could’ve done differently. Hanzo had caught glimpses of it on particularly bad nights. It was like looking in a mirror, and he didn’t enjoy seeing it in Jesse; no one else should hurt the way Hanzo hurt.

Finally, Hanzo asked, “Do you believe me when I say that I love you?”

Jesse’s weight shifted. “Of course.”

“And you love me?”

Now Jesse sat up straight and turned towards Hanzo. His eyes went wide, then narrowed as his brow furrowed and pinched, his silent plea obvious. “I do. I love you, I swear.”

“You mean that?”

“Yes,” Jesse said, his voice straining. “I’ve never meant it more in my life. Please…”

Jesse leaned in, perhaps unintentionally, and Hanzo reached up to cup the side of his face with a hand, steadying him. He made a soft, shushing sound. “I believe you. Now listen to me: you are allowed to be scared,” Hanzo said. “I can be brave enough for the both of us. This—you—are the first thing I have truly wanted for myself in a very long time, and I will not give that up without a fight. If nothing else, you can put your faith in me.”

Hanzo was mildly surprised at the ease and conviction of his own words. He had never before voiced just how much their relationship mattered to him. He hadn’t wanted to scare Jesse.

In another life, Hanzo would have been embarrassed by what he’d just said. It was foolish romanticism—a fantasy he might have indulged in when he was young and naive, but a fantasy nonetheless with no place in the real world.

With Jesse leaning into his hand and the tension slowly easing from his rugged features, Hanzo couldn’t bring himself to care. Finally speaking those words into existence was a relief. 

“Will you tell me again?” Hanzo asked.

“Hm?” Jesse’s eyes had drifted shut. When he looked up, his gaze was dark and soft. Realization flashed across his face, and he closed his eyes again as he turned to press his lips to Hanzo’s palm. “I love you,” he murmured against the skin.

The words sent a thrill through Hanzo. He tried to promise himself he would not be greedy about this. Just because Jesse was willing to say he loved him, that didn’t mean he was comfortable with it yet. At the same time, he knew he could hear Jesse say those words every day for the rest of their lives, and it would never be enough.

“I love you, too,” Hanzo answered.


End file.
